Sunday, 24 March 2013

What a Bad Nobhead, thinking she's the Queen of Paris...



I thought some nice daffodils might make me feel better. It feels like Spring this weekend.

I'm trying to figure out what type of a hangover this is... Is it the type that makes me eat burgers and chicken nuggets all day? Is it the type that makes me want to drink coffee and laugh hysterically as if I'm still drunk? Is it the type that forces me to stay in bed, not sleeping but 'resting' my eyes, only moving to take timid sips of water every once in a while?

I've got teabags but no milk, hot cross buns but no butter. I think it's going to be a shit hangover. I don't feel too bad actually, just annoyed that I can't have tea. I know! I'll have a black tea and a dry hot cross bun. Don't really have much choice, hold on...

The hot cross bun was a mistake. Ergh.

I've got The Fear. Can't remember if I said or did anything awful last night.

The weekend got off to a bad start on Friday morning, I had an arguement with one of the other nursery teachers. Well, not an arguement as such, because I didn't really say anything, I did that thing where I just stare in silence and people think I'm either plotting to kill them, or having a stroke.

There's a new teacher who started over the holidays and yesterday was the first time I'd worked with her. At lunchtime we had to walk some of the kids down the road to the nursery for older kids, where I teach on a Monday, because this is where they eat. I could tell straight away that the other teacher was stressed. She kept asking me if everyone had their teddies and when I told her I didn't know she said:

"Don't you do this every week?"

This is making me look quite bad, because I do actually walk the kids across the road each week, but the other teacher used to sort their teddies out. I'm not a qualified nursery teacher. I was hired to teach English twice a week and I've ended up doing a lot more than teaching English. Once I changed a nappy. It was disgusting as the child was clearly too big to be in nappies (like the toddler in the au pair family who is actually three years old- if he's big enough to eat sausages and pasta with pesto, he's big enough to change his own nappy).

I'm not saying I'm above changing nappies (I am though, if I have ever accidentally wind up pregnant, the resulting offspring can poo in the garden*) but I don't feel the need to leap about, organising teddies and proving what a good nursery teacher I am. I put their shoes and coats on (the kids, not the teddies) what more do you want?

Ha ha. No wonder she was getting annoyed.

She wasn't annoyed though, she was getting really stressed out, for No Reason. People who are stressed make me want to run away from them, I can't help it, it's an instinct thing. If somebody is panicking or getting angry, my whole body tugs me away from them and onto calmer pastures before their stress can infect me. Stress spreads and I don't want to catch it.

We eventually got the kids and teddies ready and set off.

Suddenly the other teacher started panicking and told me that I was being really dangerous, because the two kids I was with were walking on the side of the pavement closest to the road... She had a point, but we'd just been crossing the road- I could hardly start messing about in the middle of the road, switching kids around as cars came towards us...

We got onto the pavement and I stopped to swap hands, but she wouldn't move out of my way, she was just bustling around with those two big bags banging about, telling me that she was 'stressed'. Then two of the little girls she was with let go of her hand, so she started shrieking and panicking, even though they were squished against the wall by her, me and four other children.

I tried to walk past the other teacher because I get quite ANTSY when people take up too much room on the pavement and make me feel blocked in, but then she started yelling at me to get the two little kids who had broken away from her chain. Then she started talking to me in English, as if I hadn't understood her. There is literally nothing that irritates me more than somebody yelling in English the same thing they've just yelled at me in French.

I didn't say anything. I just ignored her and sorted the kids out, talking to them and being nice and calm. When I'd finished we set off down the road but the other teacher was still in my way like a mad fucking bag lady.

"What is wrong? What is wrong?" she was asking me.

I could have happily ignored her for the rest of the walk but I suddenly realised I was being a bit sinister, so I just told her that I hadn't understood what her problem was. Then she started apologising and saying that being with kids near the road stresses her out so I just said:

"Of course, of course, I understand."

Should I have apologised for staring at her and ignoring her? I don't know why I was walking with the kids on the wrong side, but any humble pie I was willing to eat was squished under the foot of her mad, irritating panic.

Anyway, I've forgotten it now, although yesterday I was thinking about it all day, getting more and more annoyed for no reason. I cheered up at my au pair job though- when I was dancing with the toddler, spinning round and round and round the living room, he shouted above the music: "T'es une princesse, t'es une princesse!"

Babies can't lie.

Me and Ruth had said we might go for a drink after work but I was really tired and she hadn't called me to make a plan, so I went bought a bottle of wine on my way home and went to the Chinese traiteur. (I felt a bit embarrassed when I went in this time. I hate people knowing that I like things. "She likes our food, she comes in once or twice a week, she must really like our establishment." Eurgh.)

It was bliss eating chinese, drinking wine and watching Sex and the City. I started the box set again recently. I think I've been watching it too much though, sometimes when I binge on a TV show I think that I'm friends with the characters and I catch myself adopting the same mannerisms as the actors. My mind is too impressionable. It's the only series I have on DVD though and my laptop is being rubbish at the moment. OJ put something on my computer that means you can download TV really easily and it worked really well when I was in TC and OJ's apartment, but as soon as I got it home it slowed right down and now it's just stopped working.

I suppose it's a good thing really, if I could watch TV on my laptop I'd never go out.

Sometimes I just want to turn my brain off. The book I'm reading at the moment is Ivanhoe, which isn't exactly light reading. Not for me anyway- there's no translation for the Latin phrases and there's no appendix to explain who all the obscure knights and saints are. Feel like a dick because I wasn't born in the 12th Century.

By the way, the last book I read was 'Skagboys' by Irvine Welsh and I kept meaning to mention it because I loved it SO MUCH, although books also have an effect on my impressionable mind and I kept wanting to call everyone a 'wee gadge'. I didn't want it to end, I wis pure greetin aftir, likesay when I finished the cunt, ken?

If you've seen the film 'Trainspotting' but never read the book- you should. ('Skagboys' is the prequel to Trainspotting, there's also a sequel called 'Porno'.) I know all good writers create characters that seem like real people, but Irvine Welsh does this better than any author I've ever read. Sometimes scenes from his books pop into my head as if they were real memories. 

Anyway, why did I start talking about Skagboys? Oh yeah- books, TV, Friday night...

I think I was asleep before 11pm. When I woke up I felt like an empty cloud, a pale smudge on the sky of life, the bright blue representing raves and raucousness and there was me just drifting along... I wandered lonely as a cloud/That floats on high o'er raves and pills/When all at once I saw a crowd/A host, of golden raving girls. Oh my God, I have just read the whole poem and it's obvious that William Wordsworth was using nature as a metaphor for going to the disco (that's what clubs were called in the 19th Century, right?) and getting on it:

'Tossing their heads in sprightly dance... the waves besides them danced...

... when on my couch I lie (in a post-rave trance)... my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.'

I bet it does, William. Wink wink.

Ok. I didn't think this tangent I've gone off on would move so far, so quickly.

Back to yesterday. I went to my au pair job feeling like a lonely, rave-less cloud. It was pointless, as always, then I went home and suddenly felt really excited for going out. Everyone was calling and texting me and I just sat on my bed painting my nails and making plans, feeling like the QUEEN OF PARIS.

I wanted to go to a night I found in the 2nd, at a club I've never heard of called Le Malibu. (Maybe it's just opened?) The music looked quite good and it was only five euros to get in. Julia was going out in Pigalle and suggested we go to Le Malibu after.

Then Holly called me to invite me to her place for dinner with B and their American friend Crazy Shayna. (She's crazy in a lovely way though, she jumped in the Seine a few weeks ago... for lolz not to kill herself.)

Kayt suggested we meet her friend G.Shore (her gym-tan-laundry friend who moved here recently from Newcastle) for Happy Hour cocktails.

And... Cece was back in Paris for a few days! I'd not seen him since the weekend Olivia came back and we we went to Silencio and I was two hours late for work the next day. (That was also the weekend we realised Cece's creepy neighbour- Vincent- was standing in the window looking into Cece's apartment at all hours of the night and day. Then Cece suddenly left Paris and I thought Vincent might have kidnapped him.)

Cleo and TC were involved in the texting and planning but then didn't want to come out... I thought I'd throw their names in because I just announced myself as the Queen of Paris and said that 'everyone' was texting me, when actually I can count the number of friends I have here on my fingers. Sob.

Anyway...

I met Kayt, G.Shore and Cece at QG in Bastille. They do really nice mojitos and they're half price between 7pm and 9pm. Then Cece went off to dinner and Louvre Laura joined us. I'd told Holly that me and Kayt might go to her's for dinner after Happy Hour because they were eating late, but we got into one of those moods where you want to keep drinking.

When Happy Hour finished we went to Café de l'Industrie to meet Laura's friend Marjorie. I love Café de l'Industrie (they have two bars on opposite sides of the road, we went in the smaller one) but it's more a place to have a quiet glass of wine than get drunk. Also our waitress was really rude and was wearing really tight leather trousers.

Cece and his friends were at a cocktail bar in the 11th so we got a taxi there. One of his friends is an American actress who works in Paris, she said she mostly does voice-over work but it's interesting to know that it is possible to get acting work in English over here. I don't think she was even an actor before she moved to France, she just kind of fell into it and then she was in Cece's TV series last year. (Another one of Cece's friends at the bar was the guy who played Prince Louis in Gossip Girl. I wanted to be cool and not mention it but I also feel that my readership must be largely made up of girls who watch Gossip Girl...)

The bar was L'Entrée des Artistes- it felt quite exclusive and slick even though it was actually quite laid back. I got given a short glass of red stuff that had a massive square ice cube in the middle, I can't remember what it was called but it was disgusting- it tasted like really rough, dry sloe gin. Kayt had the same and agreed with me that it was rank, so she took them back to the bar and they swapped them for two glasses of champagne. That was really nice of them, but apart from that the service wasn't great- there was only two barmen who sometimes took table orders and sometimes didn't, it was all a bit confused. They did a nice gin and tonic though.

Everyone wanted to go home after L'Entrée des Artistes but me and Cece decided to go to Wanderlust, I can't remember why now. We got out of the taxi and immediately got another one in the opposite direction- there was a MASSIVE queue outside and we were in no mood for waiting. I just wanted to keep getting drunk. We got a taxi to Bastille and I told B and Shayna to meet us there. 

On our way to Bastille, the taxi driver turned round and said "Guys, can you hear yourselves?"

I really don't think we were talking that loudly, he was just a Bad Nobhead. We got out of the taxi and I yelled MERRRRRCI so I guess I'm a Bad Nobhead too. We met B and Shayna and went to one of the shitty bars on Rue de Lappe AKA Costa del Paris. For Some Reason we got tequila and more gin, then Cece went home because he was staying at his friend Chloe's house and he didn't want to wake her up too late.

Shit. I was just about to say that me, B and Shayna went home not long after but I've just had a flashback-  there's a club on Rue de Lappe and we went there! They played Pitbull. We did some mad dancing for a bit but our hearts weren't in it- I was too drunk to embrace the shit music and get my cheesy dancing groove on, B had to be in work at 11am the next day and Shayna kept getting pulled away by strange men. 

We called it a night and got a taxi home. By the time I got into my little Cinderella room I was crying hysterically, for No Reason. This morning I woke up feeling like shit. Definitely had enough of alcohol for a while.

I can't remember who paid for the taxis and drinks last night. I went out with one twenty euro note and two tens. I've just emptied my bag and there's one twenty in there, two fives and seven euros in loose change. 

Erm.

Uh oh. Just had a flashback of putting sixty euros on my card somewhere. I got a deal then, because I feel like I've drunk three hundred euros worth of alcohol.

SHITTING HELL just reread this post and realised that I didn't go to Le Malibu with Julia.

*I've just Googled it and there is a way to safely turn human waste into compost, but it takes a lot of faffing about and then a year of waiting around; presumably those twelve months are spent trying not to think about the fact that there's a bucket of festering shit at the bottom of your garden.

2 comments:

  1. I can't believe Prince Louis is actually French - I thought he was just pretend-French.
    Great post as usual!
    Liz

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    Replies
    1. I know that's what I thought, but he's a bona fide French person. Thanks for reading and thanks for commenting!

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